The Chapel
by ExtraordinaryFlux
Summary: The King and his warlock create something magical in a building long forgotten by time, and abandoned by the people of Camelot.  Slight suggestions of romance only.


**The Chapel**

We ran along the dusty lane out of Camelot, past the old farmyard with its weed-ridden flagstones. A rusting tap stuck out of the farmhouse wall above a pile of old horseshoes and seeing the peeling, faded blue paint on the barn doors brought back a flash of recognition from the only previous time I had been there. _Back then I was young enough simply to interpret the world as a mesh of bright colours and I remembered passing those same doors all that that time ago, looking as jaded as worn as they did today_. Merlin streamed ahead of me now; his bright cries of encouragement echoing back down the lane even as I tried to catch up. He had such long legs and when he used them in earnest, I had no hope of coming close.

I watched the lane under my feet morph into a beaten track as we ran into the cornfield. Awarding myself a brief halt and ignoring Merlin for a moment, I looked up to an imposing sight. The track rose up the hill, neatly carving a sandy rut in between the waving ears of corn, all painted with a golden glow from the threatening storm clouds gathering over the setting sun. It erred slightly to the right and then, finally, came to rest at the door of the chapel.

Before this day, the chapel had been imprinted so clearly into my memories that I was sure I would never forget it. Indeed, it was not a building easily forgotten. Sitting on the very crest of the hill, it was circular in shape, with a slight bulge on the closest side where the porch overhung the walls. A solitary tower rose from the midst of the imposing circle and the rest of the roof sloped up to meet it. Made of unforgiving flint, the chapel seemed to my mind more like a forbidden tower than a place of worship; the kind normally containing a maiden waiting to be rescued. Merlin of course was already bounding up the steep stone steps which led to the door. _On my previous visit, I had been over-awed by the huge, tarred hinges and bolts which held the whole portal together, but I had possessed nowhere near enough strength to actually open the door by myself. I remembered a veined hand turning the handle and my father stepping in front of me, before the door was closed in my face once more and I turned away._

"Come on!"

Shaking my head to dispel the memories I followed Merlin's shouts and scrambled up the track hastily. Reaching the door we stared at each other, him with a look of breathless excitement, I with the smile of one about to discover something previously denied to them. Together we hauled open that heavy door; a struggle even at our age, and walked in.

The inside of the chapel was mesmerising. Supported on fat quartz columns, the imposing ceiling beams rose up, up, up to the tower, where a small circular loft looked down loftily on the pews in the nave below. Statues of brooding men and serene women gazed forlornly at the missing congregation, with cobwebs hanging from their noses and the hems of their gowns, while dust motes danced gracefully in the stormy light. The pews themselves were clad in threadbare runners, with the colour long since leeched from the fabric. The tiles on the floor were hard and cold, the altar was bare granite and even the thick woven tapestry hanging by the door was scant and devoid of any colour.

Merlin's footsteps echoed loudly round the circular chamber as he rushed over to his destination. He had been here before, or course, but never with another living soul. He knew exactly what it was he had come to do and I was merely there as a silent witness to the magic he had promised to show me. He made his way towards a tight spiral staircase which led to the loft above. The staircase was of stone and thickly painted iron and looked hardly strong enough to bear his weight, yet he climbed it quickly enough and stopped after the first rotation to grin down at me; all blue eyes and short black hair. He seemed elated by what he was about to do and his joy was infectious, so much so that I found myself smiling back even as he turned to climb the remaining steps. After a few moments I decided that I might as well follow him up if only to get a glimpse of what he was about to do at close quarters.

It was when my foot hit the third step of the staircase that the first note rang out, pure, clear and sweet as a summer's day. Merlin's hands danced above his head, his eyes shone golden and then, finally, a flood of glorious, exuberant chords burst forth from thin air, seeming to swell in the confined space so that the very air itself throbbed with harmony. I stood in wonder as the notes swirled around me, bouncing off of the ancient furnishings and infusing the stone of the walls with new vigour and life. The tapestry seemed to become brighter, the pews less worn and the majesty and grace of the statues was revealed once more as the magic took hold. The storm broke then, rain hammering against the stained glass and thunder booming overhead, but somehow the music rose to embrace the sound so that nature itself seemed to be joining in with the symphony. For each clap of thunder came a rumbling bass note, for each sheet a rain a peal of treble accompaniments. My heart seemed to swell in my chest and I looked for Merlin, who was bent over the loft rail in deep concentration with his fingers flitting so swiftly through the open space that they were almost undetectable, as if he were pouring out his soul to an invisible orchestra.

ooooo

So it was that on that stormy night the little chapel on the hill, forgotten for so long, seemed to sing with life once more. Even as the storm raged the notes from the organ blossomed true and clear, so that they could be heard for miles around. Down in the city below the people smiled, remembering happy times from a bygone era, when magic ruled the land and when the hymns seemed to rock the heavens themselves. The power and majesty of the chapel that lonely night was incomparable and none bore witness to it, save for a King and his Warlock, struck dumb in awe of their creation.


End file.
